Hope and fear's alternate billow
Yielding late to Nature's law;
Whispering spirits round my pillow
Talk of him that's far awa'.
Ye whom sorrow never wounded,
Ye who never shed a tear,
Care-untroubled, joy-surrounded,
Gaudy day to you is dear.
Gentle night, do thou befriend me!
Downy sleep, the curtain draw!
Spirits kind, again attend me,
Talk of him that 's far awa'!
WOMEN'S MINDS.
THOUGH Women's minds, like winter winds,
May shift and turn, and a' that,
The noblest breast adores them maist,
A consequence I draw that.
For a' that, and a' that,
And twice as muckle's a' that,
The bonnie lass that I lo'e best,
She'll be my ain for a' that.
Great love I bear to all the fair,
Their humble slave, an' a' that,
But lordly will, I hold it still,
A mortal sin to thraw that.
But there is ane aboon the lave,
Has wit, and sense, and a' that;
A bonnie lass, I like her best,
And wha a crime dare ca' that?
HOW LANG AND DREARY IS THE NIGHT.
How lang and dreary is the night
When I am frae my dearie:
I sleepless lie frae e'en to morn,
Though I were ne'er sae weary,
I sleepless lie frae e'en to morn,
Though I were ne'er sae weary.
When I think on the happy days
I spent wi' you, my dearie,
And now what lands between us lie,
How can I be but eerie ?
And now what lands between us lie,
How can I be but eerie?
How slow ye move, ye heavy hours,
As ye were wae and weary!
It was na sae ye glinted by
When I was wi' my dearie;
It was na sae ye glinted by
When I was wi' my dearie.
BLITHE WAS SHE.
Blithe, blithe, and merry was she,
Blithe was she but and ben;
Blithe by the banks of Ern,
And blithe in Glenturit glen.
By Auchtertyre grows the aik;
On Yarrow banks the birken shaw;
But Phemie was a bonnier lass
Than braes o' Yarrow ever saw.
Her looks were like a flower in May,
Her smile was like a simmer morn;
She trippèd by the banks of Ern,
As light's a bird upon a thorn.
Her bonnie face it was as meek
As ony lamb upon a lea;
The evening sun was ne'er sae sweet,
As was the blink o' Phemie's ee.
The Highland hills I've wandered wide,
And o'er the Lowlands I hae been;
But Phemie was the blithest lass
That ever trod the dewy green.
WEARY FA' YOU, DUNCAN GRAY.
WEARY fa' you, Duncan Gray-
Ha, ha, the girdin' o't!
Wae gae by you, Duncan Gray-
Ha, ha, the girdin' o't!
When a' the lave gae to their play,
Then I maun sit the lee-lang day,
And jog the cradle wi' my tae,
And a' for the girdin' o't.
Bonnie was the Lammas moon-
Ha, ha, the girdin' o't!
Glowrin' a' the hills aboon-
Ha, ha, the girdin' o't!
The girdin' brak, the beast cam down,
I tint my curch and baith my shoon;
Ah! Duncan, ye 're an unco loon-
Wae on the bad girdin' o't!
But, Duncan, gin ye 'll keep your aith,-
Ha, ha, the girdin' o't!
I'se bless you wi' my hindmost breath-
Ha, ha, the girdin' o't!
Duncan, gin ye'll keep your aith-
The beast again can bear us baith,
And auld Mess John will mend the skaith,
And clout the bad girdin' o't.
FAREWELL thou fair day, thou green earth, and ye skies, Now gay with the broad setting sun;
Farewell loves and friendships-ye dear, tender tiesOur race of existence is run!
Thou grim king of terrors, thou life's gloomy foe,
Go, frighten the coward and slave;
Go, teach them to tremble, fell tyrant! but know,
No terrors hast thou to the brave!
Thou strik'st the poor peasant-he sinks in the dark,
Nor saves e'en the wreck of a name;
Thou strik'st the young hero-a glorious mark!
He falls in the blaze of his fame!
In the field of proud honour, our swords in our hands,
Our king and our country to save-
While victory shines on life's last ebbing sands-
Oh, who would not die with the brave!
THE POOR AND HONEST SODGER.
WHEN Wild War's deadly blast was blawn,
And gentle Peace returning,
Wi' mony a sweet babe fatherless,
An' mony a widow mourning;
I left the lines and tented field,
Where lang I'd been a lodger,
My humble knapsack a' my wealth,
A poor and honest sodger.
*Sung by the dying of the victorious army on a field of battle.
A leal light heart was in my breast,
My hand unstained wi' plunder;
And for fair Scotia, hame again
I cheery on did wander.
I thought upon the banks o' Coil,
I thought upon my Nancy,
I thought upon the witching smile
That caught my youthful fancy.
At length I reached the bonnie glen
Where early life I sported;
I passed the mill, and trysting thorn,
Where Nancy aft I courted;
Wha spied I but my ain dear maid,
Down by her mother's dwelling!
And turned me round to hide the flood
That in my een was swelling.
Wi' altered voice, quoth I, 'Sweet lass,
Sweet as yon hawthorn's blossom,
Oh, happy, happy may he be,
That's dearest to thy bosom !
My purse is light, I've far to gang,
And fain would be thy lodger;
I've served my king and country lang,Take pity on a sodger.'
Sae wistfully she gazed on me,
And lovelier was than ever;
Quo' she, 'A sodger ance I lo'ed,
Forget him shall I never:
Our humble cot and hamely fare
Ye freely shall partake it;
That gallant badge, the dear cockade,
Ye're welcome for the sake o't.'
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